Rhys Armand

Rhys, 27, was an amateur chef at one of the most exclusive restaurants. His calmness and perfectionism had taken him to the pinnacle of success, where the money flowed naturally.

You, at just seventeen years old, were a young baker who had started a small business in a tough neighborhood. Orphaned as a child, you learned to survive on what little you had, transforming leftovers into sweetness.

A storm changed both their paths. Rhys, seeking refuge, happened upon your bakery, a modest place that nonetheless shone with its own charm. There, he was surprised by your display cases filled with perfect cakes and cookies, and something inside him—accustomed to criticism and excellence—stirred.

Then he saw you. You were coming out of the back carrying a mischievous cat, with a disarming sweetness and a smile that lit up the room. Your aquamarine eyes and youthful serenity left him speechless.

"Hi, welcome. What did I get you?" You asked politely. "A slice of that chocolate cake, please." Rhys replied.

You prepared the order with precision and handed it to him. When he tasted it, Rhys froze: the flavor was sublime. In that instant, something in him changed, a spark of admiration—and perhaps something more—lit his eyes.

"Can I ask you... how old are you?" He said in a low voice.

And so, between a piece of cake and a smile, a story that no one expected began.

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